


Red Before Dawn

by tiredandlonely



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Darkness before the light, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Loss of Powers, Magic, Pain, before Feyre, controlled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredandlonely/pseuds/tiredandlonely
Summary: The great realm of Prythian has been tarnished by an evil tyrant who plans to wreak havoc on everything the Fae males and females hold dear. Amarantha has given the Spring Court 50 years to find a human love, and she has taken the High Lord of the Night Court to be her loyal companion. Over the course of this story, we will see Rhysand struggle to accept his new surroundings, and be forced to let go of the people he loves. We know what happens after, but what happened before Feyre travelled under the mountain?
Relationships: Amarantha/Rhysand (ACoTaR), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. The Night After

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, except for a few that I will be adding in as the story progresses. The main characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.
> 
> I hope whoever reads this likes my take, I have been wanting to write this for a very long time. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated :) This is my first time publicly posting my work and I’m a little worried, so if you do have negative comments that are not constructive, please keep them to yourself.

The bedroom was utterly quiet, the absence of noise creating a thick, heavy silence that felt suffocating and ominous. He was finding it difficult to simply breathe in the spacious room, as the reminder of his suffering was laying barely ten feet away. The view became blurred as he struggled to focus on calmly taking in air, while waves of self loathing rippled off him, puncturing the silence with violent emotion.

The sheets lay rumbled and damp, coated with the thick scent of pure need that stung his nostrils as he inhaled sharply. Rhysand stared numbly at the looming mattress that his essence now clung to, no longer in awe of his actions themselves but at the entirety of the situation.

Flashes of the party flew across his thoughts, the shock and the anger materializing as dark shadows that he had no control over. He watched helplessly behind the bars of his mind as he sipped on the too sweet wine, his face instantly becoming the mask of horror as he frantically lashed out to save his home and the people he loved. Rhys sat in the bedroom, fighting the urge to growl in outrage as he remembered her smile. The curl of her painted lips while she watched her guests writhe and fall to the floor in agony. He tried not to picture the blood. Or the bodies. Half of the Court of Nightmares was gone, while he stood there powerless, gazing at the broken glass of his cup that had fallen besides his feet. Rhys couldn’t remember it ever leaving his grip.

The sensation of her hand grazing lightly down his arm is what horrified him the most. And when she leaned closer, her icy fingers clamping around his wrist, and dragged her tongue down the side of his face, he refused to pull away. His heart had pounded at the contact, his insides screaming at him to crush her skull into a fine dust, and blow it far away. Anything to remove her scent from his clothes. Sitting alone in the room, Rhysand huffed at the memory. How ironic that her sickening fragrance was now the only thing he could smell, and he feared, would be the only thing he would breathe into his lungs for a very long time.

His gaze flicked to the far door on the left side of the room; how fast could he stride through its frame and into the open, silent hallway before discovery? Rhys nearly choked on the dark laugh that bubbled in the back of his throat at the words that surfaced in the back of his mind of which he could clearly visualize his brother saying. He scrambled to hold the image still, to have one look at Cassian before the scent from the bed once again seized his attention.

The male looked happy, doubled over in laughter and clutching his shaking sides as he glanced down upon Rhysand’s kneeling form. The words came out sputtered and heavy with humor as he choked out in between gasps,

“You’re not _striding_ anywhere while those chains are slapped onto your meaty ankles, you daft idiot,” Cassian nearly lost his balance as he howled. “Where’s Az? He needs to see this.”

Rhys’ mental hold on the scene faltered at the mention of his other brother, and his walls collapsed down once again. The smell of the blankets wafted closer, _her_ smell absorbed him, threading through his limbs and through his hair. Rhys hung his head in disgust.

_He was saving people. Thousands of innocents._

He shifted his wrists in the thick cuffs that cut into his skin, wincing as the rough metal pressed down into the bone. Rhysand wished for a second, only for a second, that it wasn’t him. Guilt tore through him, but the thought remained the same, why was it his burden to bear?

A light laugh sounded just beyond the doorway, and his head snapped back, eyes going slightly wide with emotion he did not understand. Rhysand swallowed a startled cry as the door banged open. A faint glow surrounded his enemy, her wine red hair pooling down her chest like long streaks of blood. His throat dried as she stepped into the room, victory and pleasure shining on her horribly beautiful face. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the woman now gliding swiftly towards him, he leaned his head back on the wall behind, exposing his neck in submission. Her lips pulled back into that smile. Rhys didn’t dare look away.

“Oh, my darling,” Amarantha’s voice was heavy with lust as she lightly combed her fingers through his hair. He winced only slightly when she came upon a tangled section, but he continued to breathe calmly. He knew what she wanted of him, and his eyes fell from her face to her chest. Amarantha wore a low nightgown of bright red fabric, so sheer it left nothing to the imagination. Rhys willed his arm to move, to wrap his hand around the back of her thigh, and trace a small circle with his thumb. His heart thudded with anger at the sounds she whispered into the silence of the room, and for a second the only thing he could hear were her light moans and the clatter of his chains.

She seemed to realize his rage, and her hand grew tight around his hair, drawing his eyes back to her own. The pair stared at each other for what felt like eternity, the barely concealed emotion drawing a thinly wound string between the two. The tension grew stronger when her eyes fell to his lips, the need and hunger written clearly across her features. She waved a hand and the metal linked to his wrists and ankles fell onto the wooden floor. Rhys remained a statue in the darkness.

“Come, I wish to sleep.”

Releasing her grip, Amarantha smiled down upon him once more, before retiring back onto the bed dripping with their combined sins. She slipped the nightgown down her thin form, and patted the empty space next to her like a mother beckoning her pet. His mouth filled with bile as he rose gracefully off the towel, and wordlessly walked towards her. He hooked his hands around her shoulders and leaned down to caress her neck with his nose. Everything in his body was screaming at him to run, to winnow, to just _leave_. Rhysand ignored his instincts and the rising nausea as he released her and settled into the mattress which to his displeasure was still slightly damp. He flicked his fingers, and with the little power he still contained, he used heat to warm his companion.

Amarantha smiled sleepily, nuzzling into his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist. Rhys simply stared. He stared at the red haired woman who destroyed everything his world had ever loved, the foul woman who had terrorized every court in Prythian. He breathed out a great breath he had not realized he was holding.

 _50 years,_ Rhys thought. _I could do it._

He could do this for a hundred years, he realized, if it meant protecting the ones that he loved. The people whose names he refused to think while he lay in the bed of his enemy, clothed in nothing but his underwear. She was so small, and frail. Her pale complexion standing out against the dark blues of the sheets, and he wondered for a moment what evil had warped this woman into who she was.

Twisting to lay on his back, Rhysand glared at the ceiling. He could do it, he could show this woman kindness and restraint. He motionlessly moved the blankets to cover only Amarantha, forcing himself to bear the cold air of the room. Rhys was so tired, so goddamn tired.

He didn’t see why he should sleep when the bodies of so many lay framed in horror below him. Why should he sleep when his court probably thinks him to be one of those countless corpses. However, he couldn’t control it when his eyes slowly began to droop, and unconsciousness began to claim his body. Sliding rapidly into the depths of sleep, he barely felt the hot breath brush his ear, but as clear as day he heard the whisper of the future to come. Her voice was low and caked with exhaustion when she muttered,

“You’re a good whore.”

His eyes snapped open.


	2. Year 1: The Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was the prologue to this story, and now we get into the real fun :) For the first few years, Rhysand remains under the mountain so time/date is mostly unknown. As the years progress I will begin to add seasons and months, as Rhys is given more freedom.  
> I will also begin to add trigger warnings in this section, but I will only be adding specifics.  
> * From here on out, you can be sure that there will probably be rape/non-con either mentioned or described in the chapter. *  
> Though Rhys considers it ‘doing his duty’, it is still unwanted sexual advances. I want every reader to be aware that I am NOT romanticizing this relationship, just simply shedding light into more backstory.

Tightly gripping the thin fabric in his hand, Rhys dug his fingernails into his palms, careful not to rip the blanket. Sparing a glance downwards, he saw with relief that the crescent shaped marks imprinted only onto the material and not the skin beneath. The ghost of a smile crept onto his features.

"I'm hungry, pet. Summon a meal for me?"

His eyes drifted slowly towards the large floor-length mirror, the small flash of victory draining instantly. Amarantha stood naked before her reflection, her pale skin seeping in the light that had managed to find it's way into the room deep below the ground.

Shifting from her heels to the balls of her feet, his captor restlessly toyed with her long cherry hair, relishing in the attention her quip had earned from him. She met his gaze in the mirror, her near obsidian eyes dancing with obvious delight as despair and slight resentment pooled in his own violet stare.

"You know I cannot," the words came out rougher than he intended, his fingers digging once more into the blanket. Amarantha's eyes narrowed in the mirror, her entire face losing its previous carefree demeanor. Rhys ground his teeth together. "I can provide you with other things, though. If you would like." He forced himself to grin.

In one swift motion she turned and clasped her hands together, pressing her arms to her chest in an effort to make her breasts appear more defined. Rhysand growled.

"I do enjoy it when you provide me with those certain things, my Lord. The sounds you make are quite delicious."

Releasing the blanket Rhys instantly slid off the bed and stalked over to the small woman who's gaze had now dropped far below his face. His hands shook slightly as he took her face in his palms.

_How easy would it be to snap her neck?_

He knew the question loomed in his eyes, and he quickly averted his stare downwards, his hands, with some effort, releasing her chin and following the path down her body towards the arch of her back. Amarantha's fingers slid into his hair, and he allowed the low moan to escape his lips as he fell to his knees. Sparing quick brushes of his mouth against the low point of her stomach, he wasted little time accessing her most vulnerable spot. He felt her shudder in pleasure.

"You, are most _definitely_ my favorite toy. But-" Amarantha pulled out of his grasp, leaving him kneeling naked on the wooden floor, hair fussed in multiple directions. "I am still hungry."

Her eyes scanned him twice more before her attention became focused on throwing a dark red sundress over her shoulders. Distractedly she murmured to him, "Dress. Go sit at the table. I'll be right back."

It took Rhysand a moment to stand after she breezed out of the bedroom, his fingers unconsciously pressing deeply into his palms. He hissed in annoyance. The next time she took him to bed she would notice the marks, he knew she would.

Three days ago he had cut himself accidentally on the side of the table, a small gash appearing on his hip. Amarantha had scowled, ordering him to the towel in the corner of the room where the chains could be affixed. He had damaged her plaything.

She hit him three times across his face, while he whispered apologies in between gasps. His own power had slapped him along with the force of her hand, and Rhys had not been prepared for the slam of such heavy darkness to follow so quickly after each round.

She left him there then, wounded in his pride, for the remainder of the day. The hours had ticked by in silence, and as he searched desperately for even a tendril of his power within his own mind, he became further pained when he resurfaced empty handed. He knew then that he was a husk of himself, had known from the very first night but hadn't wanted to accept it. His cousin would be ashamed to see him like this. Drained of his very life force, obeying a foreign power simply because there was nothing else he could do.

Mor would laugh in his face if she ever got the chance. She was so much stronger than he was, so much more resilient when it came to being left a shell of yourself. He pictured her glare as he sat quietly in his chair, hands resting neatly in his lap. She had to hate him now, for never returning from that party. What did she even think of him? His stomach churned in response. He'd rather not know.

Repressing the urge to fidget as he waited, Rhysand glanced down at his clothes and sniffed in disgust. The entire ensemble was drenched in her scent, the sweet aroma clouding his thoughts. He decided he hated the shiny black dress shirt, and the tight form-fitting grey pants. She had tried, he would give her that. She had tried to give him clothes she thought he would enjoy, but they merely felt like another set of chains.

She would remove them when it pleased her, and slap them back on whenever she grew tired of being pleased. Which was rare.

Amarantha sweapt into the room, two trays in hand, and Rhys urged himself to sit up straighter. She smiled sweetly at his polite manor, and placed one of the plates in front of him. For a moment the scent of eggs and bacon soared through his nostrils, blinding him temporarily from reality.

"I hope it's to your liking, these are my favorite breakfast foods."

She hummed out the words in delight as she sat, digging in with her fork almost instantly. Rhysand paused for a moment and simply watched. Here he was, _dining_ , with his enemy, while thousands around him were suffering. It was incredulous, the entire situation was wholly ridiculous.

He noted randomly that her nose would scrunch up whenever she took a bite from the food after sipping from her glass. And that she would twirl her fork in her hand as she chewed, often glancing up to stare at him and blush innocently, as if embarrassed to be eating with an audience. It was these little things that stung him harder than her fists, these small domestic moments where he wasn't hers, and she didn't own him.

Did this mean he was choosing to sit here and eat? Could he walk away if he wanted, and return to the bed? Rhys cringed visibly at the thought of wishing to be back on the mattress, and Amarantha frowned.

_Shit_.

He had not realized the extent of how closely he was being watched.

"Darling, you haven't touched your food. Eat."

Her tone was sympathetic, but he saw through to the bite of her words. He quickly realized he had been incorrect as he brought the fork to his mouth. Even here at this table, he belonged to Amarantha.


	3. Year 1: Talk to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood, scratching  
> Additional sexual warning below.

"Aren't I beautiful?"

He hadn't believed it was possible, but Rhys' heart stopped beating. For three seconds he sat frozen on the bed-- hands that had been combing through long red hair trembling slightly. It took him a moment to find the correct words, the _safe_ words, and while he sat motionless Amarantha twisted in his arms to peer up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

"You are the woman of my dreams," he said quietly, wishing she would simply lay back onto his chest and they could continue on in silence. He quickly knew the rest of the night would be anything but.

Amarantha sat up suddenly, wrenching her hair from his grasp and leaving Rhys lying back with his head propped up against the metal headboard. Her eyes were dark, their usual amber glow of lust and pleasure drained, leaving behind simmering coals that pinned him to his spot.

"How am I to know what your dreams are brimming with?" Her lips pulled into a sneer. "Use words with real meaning, darling, and choose them carefully."

Rhysand tilted his head down, eyes brushing over the spot where her hand now gripped his upper thigh. Her palm was light on his bare skin, the tips of her fingers slowly caressing the muscle in a way that made his entire leg shudder. Ever so carefully he focused his attention back onto her face, bringing his hand up to her jaw and tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. He made his mouth draw a lazy smile.

"In my dreams, I see a female of pure-"

Rhys' jaw clenched as she raked her nails down his thigh, persuading thin drops of blood to follow in her wake. He started again.

"You are simply-"

A strangled growl escaped his lips as she traced the same lines again, pushing harder this time and breaking more skin. He tried once more.

"Your beauty is the only thing I value in this world," his eyes closed briefly, and his entire body tensed in preparation for the impact that never came. His heart thundered in his chest as he waited another beat, before opening them to find her licking the blood off her fingernails one by one.

She grinned as she ran her tongue down the last bloody finger, savoring the look of quiet horror that had unconsciously decorated his face. He wiped away the emotion instantly, only allowing himself to lower his eyes once more down to the ragged marks in his leg. Rhysand breathed deeply before continuing.

"Your beauty is what drives me to stand everyday, and I am _honored_ to be in service of such a beautiful, and gorgeous master."

The words were a lie, a great one indeed. He feared they both knew it.

For a moment, neither Amarantha or Rhys moved. The entire room seemed to take a breath, the air thinning, and heavy darkness pouring in. It was in the following few seconds that Rhysand found himself quickly straddled by his captor, her hands pressing him back down onto the bed. She leaned forward, grinding her hips against his own.

"You can say pretty things sometimes," she nudged her nose along his neck, applying more pressure on his hips. "Though I deeply prefer your sounds." She tugged at his earlobe with her teeth. "I'm also intrigued. Is that truly how you perceive me? As your master?"

Slightly stunned, Rhysand could only stare at the ceiling as she teased him, pressing more kisses along his collarbone. He tried to remember how to work his jaw.

"I- well yes. Am I incorrect to offer you that title?" It all came out in a single breath, and he regretted the words instantly.

Amarantha paused in her journey up the side of his face and leaned back, resting a hand on his chest, and the other under his chin. She arched an eyebrow, playfulness dancing in her eyes.

"Are we not both enjoying this? Look me in the face and tell me you don't wish to be inside me. I'll let you sleep, right now, if you can."

The challenge was a taunt, she thought he could not resist her. He smiled at her, with meaning she took as submission. But in reality, he was smiling for the fact that he had pleasured her so greatly, she was under the impression that he too revelled in their acts. For this fact alone, he would allow himself to play her games.

"Sadly, I cannot."

Amarantha grinned triumphantly. Sliding backwards so that she was laying on her stomach over his legs, she ran her hands down his chest.

"I believe us to be lovers, and as you've been such a lovely partner today, I'll give you a special treat."

All it took was the brush of her lips against him and his back was arching into the mattress, his head pushing into the pillows. He gripped the blankets tightly in his hands, allowing her mouth to travel the length of him, building up a great release he had so been yearning for these past two weeks. Pleasuring her was a different feeling, filled with duty and disgust at not only her but himself. This however. This was extraordinary.

He was the one experiencing the delight, he was the one groaning into the darkness. His entire body shook as the pressure grew stronger, her movements becoming faster and heavier. He practically whined as his climax neared, back slamming down into the bed, his muscles spasming rapidly. His breath grew deeper as he waited, just that last second, that final stroke until-

Hot, seering pain ripped through his core pushing a loud gasp through his lips. Amarantha laughed lightly as she watched him twitch, straining for that last bit of pressure to bring release. He reached for his cock, mind fuzzy with need, before power hurtled into his arms pinning them to the mattress.

"Oh, no. No, no my darling. Good whores listen to their master's, and as you believe me to be a beautiful and gorgeous master, then you will listen when I tell you not to finish."

Rhysand whimpered as he pressed the side of his face into his shoulder, squirming with the mix of humiliation and throbbing pain.

"Now that's a good boy. Talk to me, will you be good forever?"

His power still held his arms tightly in place, and he waited for the pulsing need to fade before he looked back into her eyes. In a strained and defeated voice he whispered,

"Forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: orgasm control


	4. Year 1: Practically Strangers

"You look happy, my darling."

Rhysand grinned lazily. It had become easier as the weeks stretched on, the smile not as forced as it once was. Simple as pushing a button he could summon the motion forward, reacting to whatever his captor had said with little to no hesitation. Rhys couldn't tell if this was a good thing to have achieved.

"Why shouldn't I be happy? I have extraordinary company," he murmured. Rolling his shoulders, he yawned slightly as he stretched out his back, the muscles groaning in protest as he slid off the mattress. Rhys turned to see Amarantha pouting under the covers.

"Then why are you leaving? I miss you."

He smirked at her, before instantly recoiling in horror. The expression had come so easily to him, the desire to quip back had too quickly overtaken his senses. He schooled his face back into the calm smile he found was perfect middle ground, and asked her if it was alright for him to take a shower. She reluctantly allowed him to pad across the room, and as soon as the door shut lightly behind him, Rhysand collapsed to the floor.

Staring at the white tile, he debated the consequences of throwing up all over the bathroom mats. When had he become so... _casual_ with her?

Resting his head in his hands he bit back a groan. Cassian would flay him alive. Physically push him into a cauldron of broiling hot water. Azriel, he wouldn't do anything harmful, he was too kind natured. No, he would only ignore him. For days, weeks possibly. His brothers would be absolutely disgusted if they could see him now.

Rhys felt like his entire body was drained. He weakly crawled over to the shower, wincing as his bruised wrists made contact with the cold ground. Amarantha rarely found the need to chain him to the wall anymore, instead she liked to combine her favorite activities. He had come to loathe both the bed and the irons, simply due to the fact that when brought together, she made everything last _so_ much longer.

"Sweetheart, is everything alright in there? I'm coming in."

He heard her clothes sink to the floor, and watched as the door handle turned. Rhys couldn't find it in him to care that she would ask why he was on the floor. He didn't care that she would probably punish him for wasting her time. He didn't give a single fuck that she most likely wouldn't let him out of her sight for a few days. He could only see his brothers standing over him, snarling at how weak he had become.

He let the tears well up in his eyes, staring at everything he cared about in the world, and nothing at all at the same time. Distantly he heard Amarantha's short intake of breath as she looked down upon him, but he was so far away that he made no reaction when she sunk down besides him and enveloped him in a hug. He recognized the feeling of lightly having circles rubbed into his back, but his mind was too focused on the words he now heard being spit at him from above.

"Traitor."

"Liar."

"Disappointment."

" _Whore_."

Rhysand blinked. He slowly moved his eyes from the tile and tensed as they settled upon a pale face framed with flowing blonde hair. His eyes remained fixed on this illusion of his cousin, as Amarantha began to whisper in his ear. The two voices became mixed and warped, too difficult to determine who was saying what.

"It's okay."

"You're a _whore_."

"We all have bad days sometimes."

"You're _her_ whore."

He pulled back from the embrace, searching Amarantha's face, hoping desperately that it had been her to say those awful truths and not Mor. He only found a quiet gentleness patiently staring back, her obsidian eyes warm and overflowing with pity. His throat tightened as he tried to speak.

"I-I'm yours," his eyes fluttered close. "All yours." Rhys tasted bile.

It was a few seconds before Amarantha said anything, and he half expected her to gloat and brag about how well _trained_ he was.

"Right now, you're Rhysand. Just Rhysand. You can be mine in a few minutes. Breathe."

He tried to. He was too concerned with her words, and what they meant. She was evil, horrible and controlling. Why, why, was she allowing him these small moments to feel. For days he felt nothing, was allowed to feel nothing. He drove all of his energy into lust, into making her happy and satisfied. Rhys believed that his brain had quite simply shut down, demanding his own happiness to resurface. He didn't know how to tell it that he would not be truly happy for many years to come.

"Look at me," Amarantha gripped his chin tightly, forcing his eyes to meet her own. Her gaze was soft. "Let's talk. Tell me something about yourself. I hardly know anything."

Again Rhys was left pondering what would happen after he spoke, if he would be beaten for letting his old life affect his new, growing one. But she was refusing to say anything until he spoke, her hand still on his face. He didn't know where to begin.

"I-I like to read sometimes." The tiny fact had just slipped through his lips, surprising not only himself but his captor. She smiled slightly.

"I can send for some books if you would like, is there anything else? What about your family, tell me about them."

_Ah, there it is._

Rhysand was instantly sober. He drew back from her touch, shifting to lean against the glass door of the shower. The pooling lavender of his eyes returned to the cool violet clouded in darkness. At the mention of his loved ones, he remembered who he was. What he was doing, not just in this bathroom, but in these 50 years.

_I am saving people._

Rhys let the phrase play over in his mind until the rage at her clever tactics to convince him to open up faded, and he was once again calm and calculating. He let a sad smile breeze onto his face.

"I don't have a family, they died years ago," his mind went to his mother and sister, giving Amarantha real pain to feel if she was using his powers against him. "Thank you for offering to bring books, that would be lovely. I'm very sorry about this, I don't know what happened."

He sheepishly grinned, splaying his hands palms up. She only laughed at him.

"It's fine, handsome. Let's get in the shower now, my skin is positively dry."

He allowed himself to be pulled up by the female in front of him, and he didn't protest when he was led under the water and washed. Rhys smiled the entire time, sometimes flicking soap at Amarantha and laughing as she shrieked in delight. But his thoughts were on his brothers and his cousin. He forced himself to hear her words one last time before shutting them out entirely.

"You're _Amarantha's whore._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this writing feels rushed, I may go back and edit it later, I had a lot of ideas about what I wanted to write for this situation, and it may have become slightly muddled. Let me know if you liked it though!


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